The Sweetest Victory
by JadeMac2442
Summary: A very AU Star Trek:2009 crossover with the Soccer World Cup. Kirk's a striker, because it suits him. Spock's the goalie, because he thrives on knowledge of angles and velocities. Nero's the bad guy, but you knew that. SLASH K/S
1. Chapter 1

AN: So this is a world cup soccer (football) and Star Trek 2009 crossover. Don't know how that happened, but I think it's spdfg's fault. She writes amazing soccer fic.

Warnings for SLASH of the K/S variety (mild and non explicit), and for violence and swearing. There will be angst, possibly melodrama. You've been warned. Also, much fluffier than my normal. Hope you like.

I'm thinking this will be about three or four parts long. And it'll be up quick, cause it's writing itself.

This is in honor of world cup and spdfg, who inspired me to write star trek/soccer fic, which I have apparently been desperately craving. Who knew? There will be more author notes at the end.

With sincere and incredible thanks to 1lostone, who has been kind enough to deal with my crap and beta this for me.

* * *

Spock watched the captain nervously. The man was pacing in a way that Spock did not like. Kirk seldom, if ever, displayed any visible sign of nerves. He was always keyed up and excited, bubbly and bouncing before a match. He was never...like this. Spock was willing to grant that this was Kirk's first world cup, and he was playing this first, opening match as captain, a feat heretofore unheard of in soccer history.

Kirk was also the youngest captain, ever, to wear the hallowed blue and gold. They were playing in gold today. It suited Kirk. Everyone enjoyed seeing Kirk in blue, reflecting at length on the almost supernatural color of his eyes. But for some reason Spock felt that Kirk just looked...right in gold.

As though Kirk had felt his eyes, he looked up from his restless pacing. "Alright, Spock?"

"Yes, Captain, I was merely observing your behavior. You are not normally prone to nerves."

Kirk's reply was distracted, weary. "It's Jim, Spock, call me Jim. We've been through this."

Spock nodded and could not help but notice that Kirk did not answer his question as he resumed his pacing.

Kirk stopped his walk to look at Spock. "It's just...these guys are the last team my dad played against."

And there. That answered it for Spock. He reached out a tentative hand and placed it on Kirk's shoulder. Kirk simply nodded at him.

* * *

Theirs was an unlikely friendship. Kirk was a striker. It suited his temperament. He thrived on energy and daring, on impulse and sheer audacity. Spock was not like Kirk. Spock's world was that of a goalie, carefully constructed of walls of defense and logical play, all focused in math, dependent on an incredible knowledge of angle and trajectory.

They had, at first, come together mostly out of necessity. It hadn't been an auspicious start between them. Actually they'd hated each other. They had first met on opposing sides of a club match where Kirk had scored on and fouled Spock in a very controversial way, and then had gone on to win the win the match for his team despite being injured himself. Spock had argued the goal, and had disliked Kirk's exuberant showboating, while Kirk had despised the arrogance of the ice cold goalie.

But come together, they had. At some point after having been picked to play for their national side, they had come to a truce. And if it was not an epic friendship, well, perhaps, it had not been meant to be.

But hours of daily practice far from home can change a man's opinion of his colleagues, and so had it been with Spock. Kirk was a gorgeous golden ball of energy and daring. He gave everything of himself to every practice, retaining nothing for himself. And while Spock would, perhaps, have chosen a different tactic, he could not help but be impressed by the other man's commitment. Neither could Spock deny the other man's brilliance. Kirk saw opportunities where others did not, saw holes in defenses where others saw walls. But Spock often wondered if, some of the times that Kirk scored, whether he did so because the others could not take their eyes off him long enough to watch the direction of the ball. And everything Kirk did, he did with a brilliant, beaming smile on his face.

Almost everyone thought they knew him. The bright beaming smile and energy and the endless reveling. Yes, everyone thought they knew Jim Kirk. And yet, he was different from what the world knew of the famous footballer. He was quieter, somehow, in person. Reserved. And while he was unfailingly generous to everyone, and gave extensively of himself, he gave almost nothing of his past. None of the team even seemed to know when or how he'd been scouted. Kirk's father had been a footballer too, but he had been killed during the final match of the world cup, twenty-six years earlier, just after kicking the game winning goal; George Kirk had been kicked in the chest by an opposing player. The other fellow, Nero, had been red carded off the field and suspended from several games of FIFA play. But the damage had been done. The senior Kirk had never gotten up from that hit. Ironically, that had been the day of Jim's birth. Jim's mother had been unable to watch the match as she was giving birth to him. It was something Kirk never spoke about, mysteriously turning deaf and leaving the room if the question of his father or his family's footballing legacy ever came up.

So while everyone knew about his father, no one knew anything else about his family, other than the fact that no one ever came to watch him play. Spock didn't know if Jim even had any family. The man was often alone. Kirk had brought dates to watch his games, had brought hundreds of them, in fact, if not more, but never the same one twice. Spock had often wondered if the other man was lonely. When Kirk was alone and out of uniform, he often seemed smaller, somehow more vulnerable and infinitely more breakable than he ever seemed on the pitch.

It was with that in mind that one afternoon Spock had found himself inviting his former nemesis to tea. Kirk had raised an eyebrow at him and then accepted. Spock thought privately that there may have been something more genuine about the gentle upward quirk of Kirk's lips than there ever was in his cart-wheeling goal celebrations.

Spock had nodded his acknowledgment of Kirk's acceptance and the two of them went out for hot beverages. Kirk changed his tea to coffee, while the goalie had tea. There was a chess board set up amongst the chairs at the tiny coffee house, and the two had discovered an instant mutual connection. Kirk had, much to Spock's surprise, thoroughly trounced the goal keeper in their game. A most unexpected outcome. But to soften the blow, Kirk admitted to having not meant to foul Spock in their first meeting, and though Spock still had his doubts about this, Spock had accepted the apology.

For some reason, Kirk seemed to find solace in his company, though Spock could not say why. Spock had been raised as though he was minor royalty (which in fact, he was) by his father (grand-nephew to the queen) who was actually their county's ambassador to the United Nations, and therefore very concerned with propriety. While Spock had had no doubt of his parents' love, the they had often been awkward about expressing it. Spock considered himself shy, and socially awkward. He was reserved in every way, a direct foil to Kirk's bright exuberance. But Kirk didn't seem to mind. They talked as though they were old friends.

A month later, the two of them were nearly inseparable, and rarely seen out of each other's company. It had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

Spock's hand on his shoulder had done little toward calming Kirk's jangling nerves. Spock could see that. The other man was anxious to play, Spock could see that. Kirk always did better when he could run. They made the trek up from the locker rooms to the field in relative silence, Kirk never lifting his head from his feet. Spock could tell that the captain's actions were worrying to the rest of their team. Spock was Kirk's second, and took over the captaincy whenever Kirk was too injured to complete the game. That happened with surprising frequency.

Spock followed closely behind his younger captain, always slightly to the left and never more than step behind. He walked so closely that his chest often bumped into Kirk's shoulder blade. But neither of them minded. In fact, it happened with such surprising frequency that Spock thought Kirk may have ceased to notice it all together. It was no different on this walk.

Kirk's lack of ebullience had been noted by every member of the team, a great many of whom were sending uncomfortable glances in Spock's direction. Sulu and Chekov, their midfielders, were looking decidedly rattled. It was not a morning upon which any of them wished to open a game at anything less than one hundred percent.

Spock placed his hand back on the man's shoulder, and whispered, "Jim. Look to your team."

Kirk looked in surprise at the anxious faces around him and offered them a beaming a smile. "Sorry, guys, somewhere else."

Chekov beamed at Kirk then. The little Russian was the youngest player on the team, and he worshiped Kirk. "Is all right."

Sulu tossed them a fond exasperated look, saying "Don't go too far, Cap, we'll need you on _THIS _field today, not off in outer space again, or wherever else it is you go when you zone out." And with that he crashed his shoulder into Kirk's, who was then knocked back into Spock.

Spock steadied him and set him carefully back on his feet. But Kirk was already smiling. He shook his head and joked playfully. "Geez, Hikaru. I get no respect. Really, I should never have saved your life."

Kirk had dived in front of an onrushing car and dragged Sulu out of the way, and had nearly been hit himself. Kirk had absolutely no regard for his own physical safety. It was a source of much consternation to their management as well as the rest of the team. But that incident had been just after their first game together, and it had thoroughly cemented the friendship between the two young men.

Sulu smirked back at Kirk. "Yeah, pretty stupid of you. You could have saved the life of some other midfielder, you know, one who actually respects you."

Kirk laughed. "Yeah, coulda, woulda, shoulda. But I saved your sorry ass, and now I'll never be rid of you."

Spock had always envied Kirk this. This strange ability to lighten the mood with teasing words. Spock had never had it, never even understood it. But he knew that Kirk had it, and he envied his friend's ability.

Sulu's expression took on a more thoughtful note, and he bit his lip and looked down, shyly looking back up at Kirk. "Thanks."

Kirk nodded. "It was life worth saving, Sulu. Plus, I mean, your legs are lethal, man. If I hadn't a saved you, I'd just have to find some other midfielder to play on my team, and you know how much I hate interviewing people."

And Sulu laughed at him. And this time, the smile reached Kirk's eyes.

* * *

They are today playing only one striker: Kirk. Spock understood the necessity of playing a defensive game today, but he found himself wishing his friend would not be so exposed. Kirk always took a number of fouls as he blindly threw himself into the fray. Spock admired his captain's style of a play, but sincerely wished the man would take fewer risks. For he was smaller in size than most and often went down harder than anyone expected. He was exquisitely formed, there was no denying that. His musculature was optimal But compared to most people, most fans, even, he was ...average sized. Kirk was a full head shorter than anyone else on the team. Upon meeting him most everyone said that they thought he'd be taller. Chekov and Sulu often joked that they must have expected the size of his character because on the field, Kirk was larger than life. He was just...better than anyone else. And then there were his exuberant victory celebrations. Everything he did, he did with a brilliant, beaming smile on his face. And no one could look away from him, Spock included.

Spock had lately begun to have doubts about these feelings that he was having for the other man. He doubted that what he truly wanted from Kirk was the platonic friendship they had been enjoying for the last year. But Spock was not certain of himself or of these new feelings, and his normal reserve led him away from the possibility of mentioning his thoughts to Kirk. He could not risk the other man's friendship.

Christopher Pike, their coach, seemed to noticed Spock's distraction and jogged over. "You all right, Spock?"

"Affirmative." Spock's response was characteristically terse. But Pike would have expected that, as Pike knew Spock very well. Pike had been a long friend of Spock's family, and life-long footballer. He had actually played on that world championship team with George Kirk, though he had only been a rookie at the time. But his subsequent fame meant that he had been a frequent guest at Spock's home. So he knew Spock well. It was he who had first encouraged Spock to play professionally. And though Spock's father had initially disapproved, Spock's mother had supported him fully, as she always did, and argued to his father that it would be illogical for Spock to waste the gifts he had been given. As was typical in their household, her arguments prevailed upon her husband and he had surrendered gracefully.

Pike eyed him, and said, "Just make sure you concentrate. Focus. These guys are gonna be rough."

Pike would know. He had playing this team when he received a debilitating injury that had forced him off the field and onto the sidelines. Spock sometimes wondered if it pained Pike to watch his team play when he could not, but if it did, Pike never showed it.

Pike looked him over again. "Spock, they're playing Nero in today."

Spock looked up sharply. "Indeed."

"Yeah." Pike nodded.

Nero had been responsible for both George Kirk's and Pike's injuries. He also had quite a vendetta against Spock and his family. After the injury to Christopher Pike, Spock had spoken to his father about Nero's repeated brutality, and the rumors of his possible ties to terrorism. Sarek, as the UN ambassador, looked into those concerns, and had in turn, spoken to the head of FIFA, and Nero had been banned from the sport for several years. For some reason, Nero blamed Spock for this and not his father. He had been very vocal and disparaging in the press about how Spock and his family ruined Nero's career and destroyed his family (Nero's wife had left him over the affair). As far as Spock knew, this was the first game in which Nero would be participating for nearly a decade.

Spock nodded. "I will take appropriate precautions."

Pike cuffed him over the shoulder. "Good man."

"Sir, I would recommend you inform both the captain and the defenders as well." Pike rolled his eyes at Spock's affected formality, but did not comment on it.

"Yeah, I'll go tell Jimmy now."

Spock watched the coach walk to where the captain was seated, stretching out in the grass. Pike offered Kirk a hand and the younger man took it, standing up. Pike placed his hands on the other man's shoulders. Whatever Pike said, it drained all the color from Kirk's face. Pike moved his hands from Kirk's shoulders to the sides of his face, and whispered something else.

Kirk nodded stoically, and something intangible came back to him then, and he straightened his shoulders and raised his head. He nodded once more, this time meeting Pike's eyes. Pike smiled and cuffed him round the back of his head. And then Pike moved off, presumably to warn the team's remaining players.

Kirk shut his eyes, obviously steadying himself, and then opened them again, and looked around. His eyes met Spock's and he jogged over to where Spock was inspecting his goal.

"Hey, Spock."

Spock nodded. "Jim. I presume Mr. Pike has informed you of our opponent?"

Kirk jumped around, fidgeting and running in place. "Yeah."

The two men were quiet for a moment before Spock reached out a hand to Kirk's shoulder. The motion stilled Kirk and he actually stopped moving to look into Spock's eyes, placing his own hand over Spock's.

Spock drew in a deep breath, and said, "Jim, I would ask that you exercise extreme caution today."

Jim nodded. "I'll try, Spock, but I really want to beat these guys."

"I know, captain, but ..." Spock could not, should not continue to speak.

This time, Jim reached for Spock's shoulder. "What is it, Spock?"

"I dislike seeing you injured, Jim." Spock turned away from his friend.

Jim's voice took a teasing quality. "Aw, Spock, didn't know you cared."

Spock still did not turn back to Jim. He spoke quietly, eyes on the pitch. "It compromises me." Something in Spock's voice broke as he said it.

"Hey," Kirk's hand was on his arm, pulling him back. "Hey, Spock. Spock, it's okay. It's going to be okay. I'll be careful, I promise."

Spock nodded, not looking at Kirk, who by now was holding both his arms.

"Hey Spock, look at me." Spock reluctantly looked up. "It's okay. Okay? Hey, let's go out to dinner tonight. Just you and me."

Spock nodded. "We often partake in a meal after matches, Jim."

"Yeah, but this is different. There's...something I want to talk to you about." Kirk looked uncharacteristically hesitant, as though he were asking something against his better judgment.

Spock nodded, "I will meet you for dinner, Jim."

For some reason that simple response caused a reaction in Kirk that Spock would not have previously anticipated. A smile like a breaking sunrise burst through the previously stormy features of Kirk's face. "Yeah?"

Spock was left momentarily breathless. "Yes, Jim." He gave the other man a small indulgent smile.

And Spock was surprised to find that Kirk's smile could, in fact grow wider. "Great." And then Jim let him go, to do a cartwheel and a flip, one of Jim's customary goal scoring celebrations.

Spock watched him go, wondering what he had said to cheer the captain up so greatly.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Spock had little reason to smile. It was a horrifically dirty game. The first foul had occurred less than one minute into the forty-five minute period. And then it got worse from there. Either side had yet to score a goal. The only bright spot was that Kirk had only been fouled once. And though the team captain was walking with an obvious limp, he was still on his on feet.

A few moments before, Spock had deflected one of Nero's goal attempts and Nero had been supremely angry about it. He got right into Spock's face and whispered, "I will make your world collapse around you. You are going to lose everything."

Spock had blanched at the comment, and the referee had separated them. Kirk met his eyes across the field, cocked his head, and waved. Spock nodded to him and Kirk looked reassured that Nero had caused no harm to his friend.

But the incident must have left some sort of mark on Kirk, because with ten minutes left to go in the first half, Kirk managed a steal and ran the ball to the other team's goal, burying the ball in the net with a back-flipping kick, drawling first blood. Kirk's celebration was buoyant, and the team quickly buried him under a mountain of joyous exhalations. Spock, at the other end of the pitch, dropped to his knees and raised his fist in quiet joy.

But then Kirk was up and out from the huddle quickly, sprinting the length of the field to hug Spock. Spock, who had once withdrawn from this kind of contact, accepted the whirling, golden, tornado of energy into his arms with practiced ease, marveling at the perfect fit of Kirk's head beneath his chin.

"I did it, Spock." And Spock felt Kirk's smile against his neck, and pulled the striker a little tighter.

"Yes, captain. You did." Spock whispered the words fondly against his captain's golden head.

Kirk was filthy; they both were, covered in dirt and sweat from running for nearly an hour, but Spock did not care at all.

* * *

As they resumed playing, Spock could see the anger in the other team. If it was possible the game got even more nasty. Less than two minutes after Kirk's goal, Spock himself was fouled, this time by Ayel, a nasty piece of work that played forward for Nero's team. It was a bad foul, a late hit to the back of Spock's left knee, but somehow the goalie had held onto the ball. Ayel received a yellow card, and Spock's team would get a free kick.

Spock rolled to his feet, panting, attempting to seek out his friend's bright face, to alleviate Kirk's worries. But Spock couldn't see Kirk. Spock started frantically scanning the pitch.

His heart stopped in his chest.

Kirk was laying sprawled in the grass. Facedown. Unmoving. Looking eerily reminiscent of his father all those years ago.

Nero was right.

Spock's world collapsed around him.

* * *

Please review. I like reviews.

* * *

Yeah, sorry, I'm not dead. I'm moving. And I work two jobs and its just hard to find the time to post. There's more info on the profile, but thanks for putting up with me.

EDIT. So...I broke my hand, and updates will be sporadic. Also for some reason, keeps telling me that this story only has one chapter. Not true. I put the second one up two days ago. Don't know what to tell you guys.


	2. Chapter 2

I broke my right hand (my dominant hand) between now and when we last spoke. I typed this f****ing chapter with a broken hand. Otherwise this would have been up on Tuesday, like I was hoping. Sorry guys. Updates might be sporadic for the six flipping weeks it will take this to heal.

* * *

Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer. Soccer.

* * *

**So, author's note.** To answer one question quick before the fic: Soccer is much like quidditch. Only no broomsticks. Just one ball. Eleven players on a side. Goalies can use their hands, and dress differently from the rest of the team, as a matter of necessity, so that the ref can always tell them apart from the other players. Otherwise people would be getting called for handballs all the time. Game is ninety minutes long. There are no interruptions to the soccer clock. Time is never paused. Time can be added for things like injury, when the ref will add the amount of time spent for players not playing (usually no more than two to three minutes per half). A tie game goes to extra time (two fifteen minute halves) and then to penalty shoot out. There's more answers at the end, but that's the only that needs to be at the beginning.

As before this is for spdfg, with sincere and incredible thanks to 1lostone, who has been kind enough to deal with my crap, also to tkeylasunset, just for being you.

And now...let's plaaaaayyyyy bbbbbaaallllllll!

Oh wait, um, wrong sport, sorry.

* * *

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* * *

Spock ran. He didn't think about covering his goal. He didn't think at all. But his teammates seemed to notice the direction he ran and they too all ran for Kirk. Except for one young defender, whom Kirk called Cupcake, of all things, who ran for the referee.

Spock slid to his knees beside his captain, wanting to desperately to roll him over, but Spock did not dare. Instead he ripped off his gloves. His fingers found his way to the other man's neck, and Spock drew breath for the first time since he'd seen Kirk.

There was a pulse. It was sluggish, but it was there.

Spock gently rolled the other man onto his back, careful to keep the head, neck and spine in a straight line. He discovered upon moving him that Kirk was breathing. Very faintly. There was blood in his hair.

Spock was only vaguely aware of the other players arriving in the grass around him. He moved Kirk's body more firmly into his own lap, and gently patted Kirk's face and chest as he tried to will his captain back to consciousness. The two of them were quickly encircled and Spock's only thought for his teammates was the hope that they would not step on Jim.

"Jim. Jim." Spock could not seem to stop calling the other man's name. But Kirk made no response and gave no indication of any awareness, as his head lolled over over Spock's lap. As if from far away, Spock hear Pike screaming at the ref, an oddly out of character behavior for their normally unflappable coach.

"Dammit, people get out of the way!" It seemed the team physician had arrived. McCoy had a gruff and belligerent manner that belied his inherent concern for all humanity. McCoy crouched beside him, but still Spock could not take his eyes from Kirk's motionless face.

"Let him go, Spock." McCoy's tone was uncharacteristically gentle as he maneuvered Spock out of his way. The doctor grumbled to himself as he checked over Kirk. "Well, he's stable enough to risk moving him," the doctor said. Spock was immediately concerned. He did not like to see risks taken with Kirk's safety, yet he was pleased that Kirk did not appear to be in imminent danger.

Two medics that had entered the field with McCoy helped the doctor move the striker's inert form onto a stretcher. Spock was dismayed at the way the captain's arm flopped off the side of the litter. He gently raised the hand and placed it beside Kirk's body.

And then, before Spock had even truly processed it, McCoy had taken Kirk away.

And the volume came back up.

Every supporter in the stadium was making his or her boos and hisses heard. Soccer fans did not always mind a good foul, but as a whole they weren't fans of serious injury.

_It delayed the soccer._

Therefore, serious injuries were just not on._  
_

No one on Spock's team seemed to know what had happened, and none of the three referees had seen anything, other than that Nero had been near Kirk. Nero was given a yellow card. Unfortunately he could not be red carded, as no one had actually _seen_ him do anything.

Spock was seeing red. The man should have a red card, a suspension, or a ban from international play. At the very least, he'd seriously harmed three players. And Nero was the captain of his team, so he was setting them an example. The players on Spock's team all looked anxiously at one another. Some were angry over what had happened _to_ Kirk. But all were concerned _for_ Kirk. There was not a single player among them that wasn't thinking of the famous images of George Kirk's body, under a blanket, being removed from the stadium on a stretcher.

* * *

At some point the ref managed to force the team back into position with three extra minutes of play, to compensate for the time that Kirk had been down.

Had it only been three minutes? But it had felt like lifetimes, and Spock usually prided himself on his time-sense.

Those three minutes passed in a haze. Pike sent someone in to cover for Kirk, but Spock wasn't sure whom it had been. Spock didn't notice when the whistle blew for half time. And he really didn't notice leaving the pitch and walking to the locker room.

McCoy. Spock needed McCoy.

The doctor was in his office with Pike. Kirk lay on a table between them, still wearing his uniform and cleats. His white bandaged head was marred with a streak of red.

"-him to the hospital, just in case," McCoy was saying.

"Doctor McCoy, what is the captain's condition?" Spock interrupted. He only had ten minutes.

"Dammit, Spock, he's unconscious. I don't know anything else yet. I think he might have skull fracture, definitely a concussion. Looks to me like he was kicked in the head." There might be brain damage. I just don't know yet. I'm gonna send him to the hospital for x-rays and the like." He clucked and tutted over his friend's body.

Spock did not know what to say. He did not know what to do. Less than an hour ago, Jim had been cart-wheeling in front of him.

"Could this have happened while he was standing up?" Pike asked. Spock was pleased. He had been wondering that himself. He noticed that Sulu, Chekov and Giotto, the defender Kirk called Cupcake, had gathered in the door the room.

"I think we all want the answer to that question," McCoy said. "It could have, but I don't think it did, from the angle of the bleeding. He would have to have been down already."

Everyone in the room reacted with consternation to comment. It was not the kind of thing one wanted to hear.

"We won't know till we can actually watch replays," Pike said. He seemed to be trying to console himself.

"Do whatever you think you have to do, McCoy," Pike said briskly, "whatever the cost." Pike looked down at he at the pale, unconscious face, and gently stroked the sun-lightened hair. "Oh, Jimmy," he sighed, "what am I going to do with you?"

Both Spock and the doctor whirled to stare at Pike. His interactions with his team's captain previous to this point, had not indicated any sort of close relationship.

Pike sighed again, but continued stroking Kirk's hair. "I played with his dad. I found him slobbering drunk in a bar one day, and dared him to be better than his father. I told him he was meant for more than an ordinary life. He took me up on it, like I knew he would, because Kirk-"

"-loves a challenge," finished McCoy.

Pike nodded. "He comes over for dinner, sometimes. I keep him in line." Spock could tell from the tone of Pike's voice and the softness in his face that 'sometimes' was very often. Spock knew the older man was childless, and wondered at the depth of his relationship with Kirk.

Pike seemed to realize what he was doing and how nostalgic he was being, and he dropped his hand. "Well, you had better go with him to the hospital, Doc, and we'll meet you there after."

McCoy nodded and left the room to make the necessary arrangements.

Pike took Spock gently by the shoulder. "Come on, we've still got a game to play."

* * *

It was NOT a beautiful game. Not this time anyway. It was a very ugly game. There were 14 yellow cards, eleven of them to Nero's team, and one red card (unfortunately not to Nero) before the end of the match. Spock's team were not concentrating or retaliating with any kind of efficiency.

It was possible that Kirk could have rallied the team against such a thing, but absent his bright presence, the team wilted under the onslaught. Spock did not know, and could not fathom what to say to them.

Spock himself could not focus, and asked Pike to remove him before the period ended. The relief goalie allowed two goals, one in extra time, and Nero's team took the game two to one.

They were lucky that this was not a knock-out round, or all their dreams of world cup glory would have ended there, but as it was, the lost only counted towards standing, and not towards elimination. It knocked them down a little, but they would stay in the running.

Remembering Kirk's body splayed out on the ground, Spock could not bring himself to care.

* * *

The handshakes were very fucking awkward. Both teams were too angry to manage anything more than the most perfunctory of greetings. Spock pulled the blue shirt from over his head, almost glad despite himself that Kirk was no longer on the pitch to change jerseys with the monster that led the other team. As he accepted Spock's shirt, Nero said, "Shame about your captain. Fragile, isn't he?"

Spock's face turned to stone, as he replied, "I am certain he will make a full recovery."

Nero's smirk was leering. "I wouldn't know, Spock, an injury like that. He might never be the same again." The threat inherent in Nero's words was obvious.

Spock glared at the man. "On the contrary, Kirk is most resilient." So intent was their argument that neither man noticed the crowd starting to gather around them.

"His father certainly wasn't."

Kirk would have lunged at at the man for that. Spock restrained himself, but barely, and made do with imagining the pummeling he would like to give the other man's face. If the man was trying to provoke an emotional reaction from him, then Spock was not going to give Nero the pleasure of seeing it. He schooled his features and walked away from the other man, back toward Sulu and Chekov.

Nero, clearly annoyed, called him back. "And how is your family Spock?"

Spock whirled, "Pardon me?"

Nero affected an innocent look. "I merely wished to ask after your parents. They are well, I assume. At the embassy today, are they not?"

Spock's eyes darkened as he processed Nero's statement. His parents were indeed at the embassy. But no one should know about tha-

Spock ran as he had never run in his life.

Seconds later, he was through the locker room and belting headlong for the stadium exit. He had not even bothered to change out of his uniform, or to wait for security. He simply ran.

He hailed down a waiting cab, and jumped in.

"The embassy, as quickly as possible." The cabbie must have either recognized him or heard something in his tone, because seconds later, the car was squealing into traffic. The cabbie did not speak on the short drive over, which was odd for a cabbie.

Spock hurled himself from the car before it had even stopped moving, hissing "Wait for me here," at the driver.

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We have fanart. Lost_remembrance totally kicked ass with her art. lost-rem embra iant art. com /a rt/Th e-Swe etest-Vic tory-2-17146 7399

Take the spaces out. And I'm sorry but my hand hurts too much to type any more tonight. Soon I promise. Please review.

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To answer some more questions: If Nero started playing at nineteen or twenty (which is unusual, but happens), then I'm thinking that this would be his last competition. He knows it, which is part of why he may be a vicious player. Players usually play into their thirties and forties, so let's say he's forty six or seven. Players quit early due to injury or inability to deal with fame and/or loss. But you don't usually see players over fifty.

George Kirk's death, as written, is plausible. Any hard strike to the chest can be fatal if the right combination of things happen. Commotio Cordis. It's a hard strike to the front of the chest, that happens between the compressions of heart. The timing would have to be exact, and frankly, it would be difficult to do this kind of strike (and mean to kill the other person) on purpose, particularly in the absence of a heart monitor, because the timing is more important than the strength of the stike. I thought about having these answers revealed in dialogue, but frankly, this is meant to be a short fic, and I was attempting to keep it light. But the angsty crept in on me.

Just FYI, there were fourteen yellow cards and one red one issued at last week's world cup final between Spain and the Netherlands. It set a new world cup record. The previous high score as six yellows. Just so you know, I'm not basing this or any other game, on that or any other game. Just need a lot of fouls to suit my writing purpose. So I used the same number.

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Margot and Jess. I love you. So Much. You know who you are.


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